Rip
© Paul Viel

What is it like where flowers go when they die
I have enough trouble with afterlife of humans
So that question is - well - it's beyond me
I can imagine a daisy playground but
That supposes daisies are children
Or that it's to an English garden
Well tended and serene
But for all my independence of soul
I'd like to think it's a remote jungle in Africa
Or maybe South America
Hidden and wild with plenty of rain and
Sunshine that is filtered but steady and
Soil as rich as compost
If I were a flower
That would be my heaven